What winter 2013 will mean for singed fins across the country

Weird1

Two years ago winter delivered. Snowpack stacked at 100-, 200-, and even 300-percent levels—depending on where in the West it dumped. A year later, La Nina bitch-slapped us with one of the worst droughts in recent winter memory. These massive swings look a lot like global weirdness, the same volatility that united irritable forests to spark en masse this past summer and fall.

Majszak/Gregson bring home the bank at 2012 Simms Ice Out Shoot Out

BOZEMAN, MT—Photographer Bryan Gregson and hometown filmmaker Ian Majszak of Detonation Studios captured first-place and $2,000 with their banger film edit “Untitled” at this weekend’s 2012 Simms Ice Out Shoot Out.

Here lies: "Steve" the Great Lakes Steelhead, Flyfishing Badasses, Priests, and Public Access

obit5

Another year of fishing is about to smash through the door. But before it does we take a moment to remember those who passed in 2011, while leaving indelible marks on our evolving flyfishing culture.

Wyoming—A Photo Essay

PK1

They say winter is the season for tying flies.

New Orleans in August is a cacophony of brass horns, sweat, and an electric undercurrent of danger. As of last week, flyfishing joined the melee with the arrival of the 2012 International Fly Tackle Dealer (IFTD) show. Impressions of the event: Yes, Josh was robbed at gunpoint and proceeded to make his money back to the tune of 2 grand the following evening. (Thanks, Harrah’s.) Yes, the One is a rad rod. And yes, we scored a pair of Abel nippers for our efforts. (Thanks, Jeff.) And no, the fishing didn’t suck, mostly thanks to our guide, Bear Holeman, who located big reds despite tough conditions and dropping his bowels off the back of the skiff. Although much of the week remains a blur of Hurricane cocktails and little sleep, we made it back to Colorado on Monday unscathed. The following is a text-by-text recap of what went down.

Team Drake Captures TCC Gold

So far I've spent most of my flyfishing days chasing new experiences and an outdoor esthetic unattainable from within the confines of a cubicle. The competitive spectacle has long occupied the margins of what I consider important to this equation. That is not to say I don't compete: racing to the river for first crack at good water, against stingy fish and nasty elements, and dropping the occasional fish score between friends. But I haven't invested much effort into chasing a prize that resembled anything other than a rainbow, brown, tarpon, or permit.